Winter Soldier
by MuseRobbin
Summary: Patty should have realized that a bullet hole and blood prove nothing.
1. Chapter 1

THE JASPER E. CONRAD

ARKANSAS REFORMATORY FOR GIRLS

BOLTON, ARKANSAS

I slid my hand into Anton's as the train approached. He squeezed it tightly as the whistle announced the train's arrival. Although the sound blasted both of our eardrums, we stood erect until it was time to crouch down in the embankment. Anton glanced at me and mouthed 1…2…3…

He let go of my hand as we vaulted up to the train and began running along its big cylinder wheels. I could hear the scraping of medal on medal and gulped my fear down. I kept my gaze forward to Anton's shadow running in front of me. I had to keep looking forward because I'm pretty sure I heard dogs barking not too far away. His hand was stuck out ready to grasp the side of the open train car's door.

Anton grabbed at the medal but his hand slipped. He quickly stuck his hand out again and increased his speed. I was becoming winded trying to keep the pace behind him. But we were both running for our freedom. Anton grasped the medal side once more and managed to pull himself up with ease. He knelt down in front of me, hand waiting for me.

But something happened. The growling of dogs became all I could hear, even over the roar of the train.

"Patty, quickly!" Anton yelled.

I raced forward to grab his hand, but a noise exploded in my ear. The rocky gravel consumed my body as I landed harshly on the side of the tracks. I thought I had been hit, but there were no holes in me that I could see and no pain.

Horrified, I gazed at the train and all sound disappeared. Something fluttered from the open car door. I grabbed it before it could be sucked under the trains' wheels.

In my hands, was a blue buttoned down shirt. But the shirt had a hole in the breast pocket where my father's initials should have been. Blood stained the shirt. Briefly, Anton's scent washed over me before the wind of the train took it and Anton's body away.

My heart beat raced in the dark, and I ground my teeth together to keep myself from out right screaming. The cell was still dark which meant it was sometime in the middle of the night. I just didn't know what time. Mavis McCall, my roommate, slept soundly as if the night hadn't been shattered by blood and a blue shirt.

I rolled toward the wall to block out her figure and the rest of the room. I didn't need another friendly reminder that I was still a week away from getting out of this place. Early on, I had discovered that if I shut my eyes real tight, I could pretend that Ruth was there. I could feel her rubbing my back and singing one of her gospel hymns.

I hummed quietly to myself.

"_Op-pressed so hard they could not stand. Let my people go…"_

In the morning, I woke up as usual, thirty minutes before seven, our official wake-up time. I would have thirty whole minutes to myself. I took the chain out from under my standard-issue white nightshirt. The gold crest glinted in the just rising sun.

I pressed the ring to my lips and whispered, "Anton, here comes another day. Today, I will try to be what you said, a person of value."

Pushing the chain back into my pocket, I rolled over and pulled out one of Charlene Madlee's articles. She knew that I would be getting out soon, so she had been directing the subject of her articles toward the war and how it had affected _Everyone_ in America. She was very adamant on that fact.

Adamant, word of the week. It means a stone formally believed to be of impenetrable hardness. I would be sure to use it in a letter to Ruth. I would right that tomorrow morning for pick-up on Wednesday. But, right then, the morning was mine. The article had been sent out in the newspaper yesterday, Sunday's paper.

After I read her article, I flipped over to one written by Antonia Alexander, my _nom de plume_ or pen name. It's the name I chose to be able to write articles in secret so no one would know they were written by a Jew Nazi or so they called me. I had to see my words in print again, and they seemed even better in that black newspaper ink. It's the real reason why I had forgotten all about Charlene Madlee's article. I felt kind of bad, too. She's the reason why I had this job at all, and she was going to restore America's faith in me.

Finally, after reading as many articles as I could, I heard Mavis snort in her sleep. It was a sure sign that she was about to wake up. She always did that. I had grown accustomed to it. It was like my own timer letting me know that the day was no longer just mine. I quickly put the newspaper into my metal box for safe keeping and stashed it under my bed.

Down the hall, I could here whistles begin to erupt and doors being slammed open abruptly. The sounds of cranky girls being startled out of sleep soon filled the air too. Mavis muttered a few obscenities after our door was thrown open by the always angry Miss Laud. She always saved me and Mavis for herself. She was a cook like that.

We only had one small mirror in our room above a private sink that didn't work. We had to go down to the latrine anyway if we wanted to brush our teeth which is where I was headed. I was always the first dressed because I had already gotten use to the morning light I guessed. The bathroom was filling up though by the time I arrived. Girls were elbowing each other to get a good view. Amazing what we still cared about even after we'd been thrown in jail. It wasn't technically a jail, but I had to guess it was pretty darn close.

I didn't need a mirror to brush my teeth. I only needed a little water from the sink, and I could spit in the toilet. After my teeth felt somewhat clean, I took one glance in the corner of the mirror which was all I needed. My hair, although no longer a frizzy mess, was a flat, mat color from malnourishment and no sunlight. It wasn't that they didn't feed us; it was just that the food wasn't exactly edible. I guess I wasn't hungry enough to subject myself to that. Plus, I always looked forward to Ruth bringing me a basket full of treats once a month.

Anton's words, _"You're going to have it all,"_ echoed in my ears. I snorted to myself as I made my way to roll call which we always did before breakfast. I didn't know why we ever did such a silly thing as roll call. It's not like anyone snuck out in the middle of the night. As if the barbed-wire fence wasn't discouragement enough, there was always the early March cold to bite at our legs.

_March_. I had one more week to go before this place would be dust. Anton's ring seemed to burn a circle onto the skin of my chest. I grinned a wide grin that wouldn't go away until Miss Laud smacked me over the head with her clipboard as she passed by.

Mavis found me in the line in the cafeteria. She pinched me on the arm so I would have her attention. She eyed my eggs meaningfully, and I dumped mine onto her plate and she gave me her toast. We retreated to our separate corners of the cafeteria. Mavis didn't want to let anyone know that she sort of liked the Jew Nazi. Everyone had gotten use to my presence, but they weren't exactly welcoming.

There was only one girl that, despite her small appearance, had a brave heart. She slid in next to me, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. Her name was Sandy, and she was the first and only one to ever sit with me at my end of the table. In the beginning, every time I sat down, people would get up and switch tables. That's when I moved to the corner; so the switching would be less obvious.

We didn't talk about much. We just had a mutual understanding. Sandy was a thief back in her town which definitely wasn't the worst thing that anyone here had done. But she happened to have a bad rash that spread across her arms and legs and especially itched when she got nervous. We were both social outcasts in a reformatory school if that's even possible.

Something had begun to gnaw at me sometime after lunchtime. I say lunchtime because it was technically around that time, but they never fed us. Apparently, we're pretty low on the list when it comes to food rationing. Our budget had been one of the first to be cut in the state. A terrible feeling set in my chest distracting me so much that in the middle of class, I had been looking out the window past the barbed-wire fence while the instructor repeatedly called my name.

Finally, a ruler was slammed down on my desk. "Miss Bergen!"

I looked up to find Miss Perkins standing over my desk. She was another one of the hopeless singles in the penitentiary. Her narrow mouth held a terrible grimace, and her eyes were narrowed to slits.

"Get up!" She barked.

I obeyed her having long learned my lesson not to talk back. It would only gain me more raps on the knuckles. They were fully healed for once which was odd because in the first week alone, I had received the ruler everyday if not more than once a day.

Holding my breath, I walked over to her desk and laid my hands on her desk. I exhaled as she rapped away. I received ten that day.

Later in my cell, after I had woken up from another nightmare about a blue button down shirt, I sat underneath the small window. I strained my eyes to see the paper and tried to steady my still sore hands. I wrote to Charlene asking is she would print something soon. Then, I sealed my article which I had been writing for the past week into the envelope.


	2. Chapter 2

THE JASPER E. CONRAD

ARKANSAS REFORMATORY FOR GIRLS

BOLTON, ARKANSAS

I bounced my knee in a steady motion trying to will the clock hands to go faster. It was Monday, the day I would be leaving the reformatory. You'd think they would have let me out this past weekend, but my time wasn't complete until Sunday. And they don't let anyone do anything but chapel on Sunday. So to conclude my visit at the reformatory, I had to go to another pointless service adding insult to injury.

Miss Laud stood in the corner, and I glanced anxiously at the newspaper in her hands. I was feeling especially anxious because I had sent Charlene a review of the reformatory to print in the Sunday paper which she had. I didn't want Miss Laud to read it while I was still in her hands. She would've done anything to prolong my "visit."

I looked out the window toward the road beyond the barbed wire fence. At any moment, the bus would be pulling up. No one had mentioned who would be collecting me from the reformatory. My nerves were on edge. As much as I wanted to leave that place, I really didn't want to go home to my mother and father's cold stairs and unloving arms. Sharon, I could deal with. I kind of missed her actually. But I didn't miss everyone acting like she was Miss Shirley Temple and calling her the "Good Bergen Girl" or the "Pretty Bergen Girl."

Miss Laud watched me from her perch in the corner making sure I didn't leave a second before it was time. Technically, my time was up. But someone had to collect me because I wasn't eighteen. If it were up to my parents, they would have just left me in there. But it costs money if we stay any longer than the state intends. Can you believe that parents actually sent their kids there? Just as I had begun to dwell on that for too long, the noisy sound of the bus grabbed my attention. I hopped up to look out the window ignoring Miss Laud's protests that I sit there like a lady and wait.

The bus eased its way to the gate and stopped. Seconds later, two figures that I recognized made me practically jump through the window.

"It's my grandparents!" I said not caring that it was to Miss Laud.

The bus left the gate, and my grandparents slowly made their way down the long path to the reformatory. They looked slightly scared by the place which I admit definitely looked like a prison not a school. When they appeared in the doorway, I threw my arms around both of them while they smothered me in kisses. It obviously didn't matter to them that I had been in a reformatory for the past nine weeks.

"Where are mother, father, and Sharon?" I asked out of curiosity rather than actually wanting their presence. Well, except for Sharon, of course.

"We figured it would be best for you to stay with us for a little while," Grandma answered. It was obvious that there was more to the story. My parents still hadn't got over the fact that I had helped a "Nazi."

Union Station

Memphis, Tennessee

The Buick was waiting for us in the parking lot where Grandma and Grandpa had left it earlier that morning. I didn't have much luggage, just one suitcase to be exact. I rode in the back of the car as Grandma and Grandpa chatted about weather and things of that sort. They had run out of things to say to me on the train ride through Arkansas. What could I say? There really wasn't that much to tell. I didn't want to remember my experience back at the reformatory.

The drive into East Memphis left my in awe. It had been so long since I had seen anything but cement walls. Today was still chilly but acceptable for early March. There was a hint of spring in the atmosphere. There were more people out in the city than usual especially for a weekday. It's always warmer on the other side of the river than it is in Arkansas.

When we arrived at the house, Grandma went straight to the kitchen to begin supper commenting on how thin I looked. Grandpa brought my suitcase up to the guest room despite my protests that it wasn't that heavy. I hated relying on anybody for silly things that I could do myself. It's not that I was overly proud or egotistical; it was just that I didn't want to make them go to all that trouble.

Before dinner, I took a long soak in Grandma's claw foot tub. It was nice not to be forced to shower in front of thirty other girls. I felt like I hadn't been clean in a long time. There was never enough time or soap for thoroughness back at the reformatory. But, here, I put Grandma's bath oils into the tub. There were some that she had bought especially for me when I came over.

Once in the guest room, I put on fresh clothes and combed my hair. If mother saw me then, she would've been shocked. According to her, I never brush my hair adequately. When my hair seemed sufficient, I lay on one of the twin beds. There are two guest bedrooms in my grandparent's house. Normally, Sharon and I share this room. There was another one for other family members. But my mother and father never stayed the night.

The smell of something delicious soon called me back down the stairs and into the kitchen. Grandma was making fried chicken, and there were some fresh rolls on the counter. Apparently, they had spent their food rations on my return meal. I felt guilty at the thought, but the feeling soon disappeared after I stuffed one in my mouth. I just couldn't resist.

We all sat down at the table when dinner was ready, and Grandma said a prayer. Things became quiet after we all had food on our plates. I was busy eating what seemed like the tastiest food in the world. When I looked up, Grandma was eying my poor etiquette. I made it a point to eat slower. But it was quite difficult. After a while, I sensed they had something to say. Grandpa had set his fork and knife down.

"Patty," Grandpa began, "We believe its best if you stay here for a while."

"I know, you already told me that. Back at the reformatory, remember?"

Grandma smiled, "We think its best to enroll you in school here. There is an excellent private school where many Jewish girls go."

"Oh," I said not really sure what to say next but, "Okay."

After a moment, I asked, "Is it because things are still unsettled back in Jenkinsville?"

"Well, partly, yes. But we think you would be happier here."

The idea seemed amazing, more than amazing, really. I smiled at the two of them. "I would truly like that."

I had a hard time sleeping that night which was funny because I use to have such a hard time sleeping back at the reformatory. I guess I had just gotten use to it. The bed seemed too soft which is hard to explain. I was grateful, though, after a few nights when I realized what a treat the bed was. Because I would be staying long term, Grandma offered the other guest room to me with the bigger bed. I had to get use to a different bed again! But after a while, that was a treat, too.

Before I went to bed each night, I though of Anton. He was the last thing I thought of before drifting off. I didn't have any more nightmares, thank goodness. But, I still couldn't place the feeling that I was missing something. No matter how hard I tried, the missing thing never came front and center to my mind.

They didn't make me return to school right away. We were waiting two weeks because the following week would be spring break anyway. I guessed it had more to do with the fact that I looked quite malnourished at that point. Whenever, I took a bath, I avoided the mirror. If I wasn't thin before, I was just plain skin and bones now. Amazing what nine weeks can do to a person.

That first Friday, Grandma took me shopping in the city. I tried to refuse the more expensive things she was buying, but she insisted calling me her responsibility. I suspected that she missed having someone to fuss over, though. She also brought up the point that I had spent my thirteenth birthday at the reformatory and that this was her gift to me. We also got school supplies and a uniform which was required at my new school.

The next day, Saturday, I nearly had a heart attack when Grandma and Grandpa informed me that I had to go to Synagogue with them. I didn't want anyone to recognize me and call me the Jew Nazi. I especially didn't want to see my parents. The entire time, I kept my eyes straight forward on the rabbi and sang along to the prayers that were embedded in my mind. By the end, I still felt out of place and felt even more terrible when my parents met us outside.

Sharon immediately threw her arms around me. I guess that she was the only one of them that missed me. My mother gave me the obligatory hug, and my father gave me a curt nod and asked how I was doing. It was as if I was some person they use to know that they didn't want to talk to anymore. They came back to my grandparent's house where we ate pre-made sandwiches.

I didn't say much and just let Sharon do most of the talking. I didn't feel like trying to impress them that day. My mother looked straight at her plate the entire time, and my father stared at something on the wall only talking to my grandparents. When they left, my shoulders sagged in relief, and I had to go upstairs to take a nap. I was exhausted.

Something very interesting happened the following Monday. Charlene Madlee showed up at our door. My grandparents let her in with open arms. Apparently, she had visited frequently while I was away. We had tea and cookies in the living room and exchanged niceties.

"It's lovely to see you," Charlene had told me.

Right then and there, I knew something was up. That just wasn't the way that Charlene Madlee talked to anybody unless she wanted to get her way. If that was the case, I had to wonder what she wanted from me.

"Your pieces in the paper have been doing quite well. Unfortunately, all of them have only made it to the Arkansas addition. But it's still an accomplishment." She reached for her tea cup but knocked it over. "Oh! I apologize. I'm very, very sorry."

While my Grandma rushed to the kitchen for a towel, Charlene turned to me. "How have you really been doing?"

I didn't know how to answer at first. "Well, it's taking some getting use to, especially my bed. It's so soft compared to my bed back at the reformatory."

She nodded respectfully. "Before I read your piece, I would never have suspected that things were that bad there. It was quite… revealing."

I nodded, once again at a loss for words.

"Do you miss him?" Charlene asked suddenly. I always knew that she suspected that there was more to the story than me just helping a German soldier.

"He was my friend," I replied, "My only friend." I unconsciously touched the ring on the chain around my neck.

Charlene eyed the chain but nodded reverently. "I'm so sorry, Patty."

"Thanks, Charlene."

"I'm here for you even though you are the only one who can truly understand your situation. I'm your friend, Patty." The sincerity in her eyes was not meant to me deceitful. I began to feel like I could fully trust Charlene.

I nodded and smiled not trusting my voice. A big lump had settled in the back of my throat.

Grandma came back in the room with a towel and began furiously dabbing at the rug even though the tea had left barely a stain. We talked more about the paper and future pieces. Charlene officially offered me an internship at the Commercial Appeal which I accepted. This meant that I would be able to go with her when she went to investigate or interview people.

Charlene apologized once more on her way out. I followed her out the door when she gave me a subtle nod. On the sidewalk, she lit a cigarette and leaned against her car. She took a few drags. "Do you ever wonder if the police make up evidence in order to get the truth out of people?"

I blinked at her wondering where this topic was coming from. "I'm not sure. I hope not."

"But what if they knew there was something there, but they didn't have the proper evidence. Don't you think they would make something up to get someone to admit to the crime?"

After thinking on it a minute, I replied, "I guess it's certainly possible."

"Hmmm," was all she said before stamping out her cigarette on the sidewalk. She opened the car door and got in. Before she closed it, I heard her call out, "Take care, Patty."

Charlene drove off while I stood in the chilly air squinting after her car. That night, while I was thinking about Anton, an idea occurred to me. It was something that had never occurred to me before, and I could have kicked myself for not realizing it until then.


	3. Chapter 3

East Memphis, Tennessee

I thought on what Charlene said for the next week. But then, it was time for school. I didn't want to go, and I was very nervous. I like school and all but the thought of being called a Jew Nazi hung in my head. At this school, we had to wear uniforms. The skirts were blue plaid, and the shirts were a white button down blouse. Knee socks were required, and blue sweaters were optional. Grandmother told me that every girl had black loafers, so she went out and bought me a pair which made me feel even worse about taking her money.

I really didn't want to take her money for frivolous things. She was already paying for the private school which I'm pretty sure she had to make a deal with the headmistress to let me in with my criminal record.

In the back of my mind, though, I knew that Grandmother just missed having someone to take care of. She kept herself busy with the silliest things. She would spend extra time in the kitchen baking and cooking. This made me wonder if she knew that there was a war on. It was so hard sometimes thinking how men like Ruth's boy, Robert, were over seas doing our fighting while we stayed at home doing things like making unnecessary food. Thoughts like that made me want to go over and talk to big ole Hitler myself and try to make him see things my way.

Those people didn't have to suffer over there. Haven't the Jews suffered enough? Isn't there anything else to fight over? Anton didn't even want to fight. He wanted to save people and heal them not use some big guns to blow them apart. When I thought about that, I really hoped that he had tried to miss people purposefully. He didn't belong there. None of them did. They all had families or were married with little families to take care of back home.

The Monday that school started wasn't my favorite and wasn't my worst. It was school. It was a nice relief to be around boys who actually cared about school work. The girls, however, were extremely prissy and all had their hair done just so. I wouldn't let grandmother touch my hair with a ten foot pole. So mine was just normal flowing down my back with tangles. Thank goodness, Mother's permanent is long gone.

The good news was that no one said anything to me which meant no one called me Jew Nazi. But they actually didn't say anything at all which wasn't helpful because I got lost a few times. The teachers understood why I was late to class, and only one was mean about it.

I could see myself falling into a pattern quite easily at the academy. In the afternoons, Grandmother had some sort of activity planned like having tea at some other grandmotherly lady's house. Afterward, I would do my homework at the kitchen table while Grandmother cooked. After dinner, I had about an hour to myself which I used to read.

April 12, 1945

One night after dinner, Grandpa had the radio on. He said he had heard something important about the war while at work. Since the reformatory, I hadn't had much use for the radio. The war just seemed to never end. But I remember this night distinctly.

Grandpa, Grandmother, and I crowded around the radio for the announcement. Through the static, came an announcer's voice.

"…the late President Roosevelt leaves the presidency to Vice President Harry Truman. It is a sad day in America, but we hold the greatest hope that with President Truman, the war will end."

We all looked at each other in shock.

"… Several concentration camps have been liberated. This has been a big day in the history of America in war and back home."

When the news was over, music that seemed too cheery for the moment filled the room. "I'll go put on some tea," Grandmother said. We had been listening to the radio at the kitchen table. Grandpa turned it off, and we sat in silence as the water heated on the stove. Grandmother didn't put the whistle on; I suspect it was so the nothing could spook us.

The next day after school, I got a call from Charlene.

"Patty?" She said excitedly.

"Yes?" I asked hesitantly.

"You get to do your first investigation. We need to start printing about the camps over there in Germany. There is evidence out there to suggest torture and starvation. They're calling it war crimes."

I was excited to be let in on something big about the war, "Okay. That sounds great, Charlene."

"Meet me at the office in thirty minutes. Can you do that?"

I snuck a look over my shoulder at Grandmother taking some sort of cookies out of the oven. It looked like it was the last batch.

"Yes. I can do that," I said quickly into the phone.

Charlene and I stared at each other across the desk. In between us were photos taken of the camps that had been liberated by the Soviets. I felt sick. There were dead bodies in the pictures and awful emaciated bodies of people who looked like they should be dead.

"We can't put any of these pictures out there," I whispered.

"We _have_ to. It's our obligation. People need to see what's going on out there. If we don't, the world will never hear of these people. These are people, Patty. They had families who are searching for them." Charlene's face was set firmly.

I felt sick. "I know this didn't happen to Anton," I whispered.

Charlene nodded. "And I made sure of that. Remember? That's how we met. I was checking out that prison camp in Jenkensville to report the conditions. Thank God they were nothing like this. But people have got to _know_ Patty. They've got to know about this.

"I need your help on this," She continued, "I need your perspective. You know what I mean, right?"

I did know what she meant. She meant that I would know what it's like to have someone I loved in a prison camp.

"You're a smart girl, Patty, and you're mature enough to handle this." Charlene looked at me sincerely from across the table.

"Okay," I said, "I'll have the article finished for Sunday. That gives me two days to work on it. You're right. The world needs to hear about this."

With that, I left because I didn't think that I could take one more minute in that stuffy office with the eyes from those horrifying pictures staring up at me.

On the walk home, I wondered how I would go about writing the article. I couldn't say that I knew any of the victims personally, but I had known a soldier who was in a camp. He was treated fairly, at least until he was shot.

After my school work was done, I sat at the desk in my borrowed room. I stared at the wall in front of me for three hours. By the time it was eleven, I had everything written in my head. So I began scrawling it as fast and neatly as I could so I wouldn't forget anything.

_The Prisoners, Like You and Me_

_BY Antonia Alexander_

_Europe is very far from you and me, but the families have the same dynamics. The soldiers have wives, parents, and siblings. The country people have wives, parents, and siblings. And they are being stolen out of their beds for doing the things that you and I have the right to do here, in America._

_Across Europe, reports are coming back to us about the horrors and atrocities of the concentration and prison camps. It is time for the world to know, so I am telling you. I am also telling you that I have known someone in a prison camp, but he did not suffer so. He was lucky. But, out there, in Europe, they have our and their men in these camps. _

_The Soviet Union is working with us to liberate these camps such as Buchenwald from which the pictures have not even come back yet. Below, are pictures from the others. Remember, you and I have something in common: the loss of something great; the loss of freedom._

Charlene had agreed to add more facts when I took the article to her the next day. She knew how hard it was for me to talk about Anton. But in a way, it felt good too. On the walk home, Charlene's words from a few weeks ago spun around in my head. The evidence that we were provided with was obviously very real, so what could she possibly have meant?

An image of Anton's shirt flashed through my mind, the blue shirt with the hole shot through my father's initials. My head throbbed as I tried to find the missing piece in my brain that had been haunting me for the past four months.

"_Do you ever wonder if the police make up evidence in order to get the truth out of people?"_

_I blinked at her wondering where this topic was coming from. "I'm not sure. I hope not."_

"_But what if they knew there was something there, but they didn't have the proper evidence. Don't you think they would make something up to get someone to admit to the crime?"_

Then, I had it.

I stopped right in the middle of the sidewalk, too, before wheeling around and heading straight back to the office.

"Charlene! Charlene!" I yelled when I arrived.

Her fiery red head appeared above a cubicle, her face alarmed.

"Charlene!" I yelled.

"What is it?" Charlene whispered frantically. "What's wrong?"

"It's Anton," I sang out. "Why didn't you just tell me?

"Tell you what?"

I hugged her around the waist. "Oh, thank you! Thank you for making me realize!"

"Realize what?"

"I have to go!" I yelled before starting out the door. Charlene was behind me, though, pulling on her coat.

"Where are you going, Patty?" Charlene called down the street before catching up to me. "Hey!" She grabbed my arm and forced me to a stop. "You can't come into that office yelling about him like that."

I nodded thinking about her nails digging into my arm.

She slowly broke out into a smile, "Took you long enough."

We began walking again.

"I've got to do something. How do you think they got the shirt? What if they have him in New York City, right now? Oh my God! What if they're trying to get answers out of him?"

"I don't know," Charlene said quietly. "But, I also don't know if he's really alive either."

"Charlene!" I cried out. "Don't say that! Don't get me all excite for nothing and then say that."

"Patty-"

"Look, Charlene, I've got to go. I have to go find Anton."

I hurried down the sidewalk while Charlene stood uncertainly, cigarette still in hand.


	4. Chapter 4

East Memphis, Tennessee

April 30, 1945

The Soviets had been in Berlin for nine days. When we heard the news, Grandpa, Grandmother, and I danced around the kitchen whooping for joy. The news had reached America a day late, but when we did hear it, the war felt like it was already over. We were getting close. I could feel it. The war that had been raging through Europe for half a decade and taking so many lives was coming to an end. Already, we had more resources. Even the high end restaurants had begun serving that fake coffee that tasted awful, not that I liked coffee much anyway. Those restaurants were the first to get the good coffee back.

School was okay. It was better inside the classroom and at home studying. I didn't like having to worry about where I was going to sit or who I was going to walk home with. I still got vague looks and questioning brows every once in a while. But those began to fade more often as I became less known for being the new girl. Many times, I had been called upon in class, but my mind had been elsewhere. It had been in the fields running with Anton or in the room above the garage talking with Anton. I couldn't remember if my appreciation I had for school came before or after Anton. All I knew was that he was my teacher, the greatest teacher that I had ever had. I wasn't going to let him down.

It happened while I was in the library in Midtown. Grandmother was playing bridge with her friends a few blocks away. I escaped to the library, thankfully. I didn't like to hear her fuss over me, and I especially didn't want to be introduced to anymore granddaughters. However, I was in the library feeling very small among the stacks of books all around. There were college students sitting at tables not too far away looking very important at whatever it was that they were doing. I was supposed to be looking for a novel required for my literature class, but like many times before, I found myself in the travel section once more. Most of the books about Germany had been taken down. A lot of censoring in that department had been done since the war began.

The dust was especially thick in this section. Though the stacks were limited, it seemed as if a very small number of books were ever checked out. I sneezed three times in a row and got a dirty look from a boy sitting at one of the tables. I ignored him and bent over to peer down at a familiar word that Anton had mentioned a few times when speaking in reverence of his country. _Deutschland_. I opened the book and discovered as I flipped through that the entire thing was written in German. I looked at the pictures- Berlin, Hamburg, Munchen- and even Gottingen. I sat down on the floor. The paragraph on Gottingen was very small though. A picture of what seemed to be the university was to the left of the paragraph. I bent my head closer until my nose touched the book. I could make out that there was writing on a plaque near the entrance, but I didn't have a guess on what it said.

I tucked the book under my arm and was just about to get up when I saw a book pushed behind all of the others. _Deutsch_ it read. I recognized the German word for the language immediately and gasped. I pulled the book out from behind a book on Italy. There didn't appear to be any books in Italian, so I knew I had gotten lucky. It appeared as if most books about our enemy countries had been taken down by some librarian or other who just may have had a G.I. for a son or husband. I hopped up quickly and rushed toward the section that would house my book for Literature.

The streets were only slightly crowded as I ran the few blocks back to the house where Grandmother had been playing bridge. Before I arrived, I quickly tucked the books into my backpack so I wouldn't have to explain yet again why I had books about the country she and her parents had fled from. Many of her cousins did not make it. We fell out of contact with them only to discover years later that they had suffered in Auschwitz. None of them had survived.

Later, while Grandmother and Grandpa sat with their ears pressed against the radio's speakers, I politely excused myself to my room. I stood in front of the mirror, repeating the words from the book to myself, first in German then in English.

"_Hallo._ Hello."

"_Guten Morgen._ Good morning."

"_Guten tag._ Good afternoon."

"_Gute Nacht._ Good night."

"_Danke._ Thank you."

I skim down the list.

"_Ich suche…_ I'm looking for… Anton."

It became tiring after a little while, and I could only memorize a few at one time. When I was lying in bed, tucked beneath the old quilt, I whispered into the dark. "_Gute Nacht_, Anton."

I closed my eyes, and I could almost hear him whispering it back.

There was a nervous energy at school the next day, and I eventually gathered enough pieces of whispering going on around me to put the story together. Apparently, on a breaking news report this morning, it was announced that Hitler had committed suicide yesterday. Talk of the war ending erupted all around. I guessed it was true if big, bad ole Hitler killed himself, that meant he was scared of loosing. I smiled to myself before going on to class.

When I returned home, Grandmother and I didn't discuss it so much. We had already had our fill of information, and there was nothing left to say. She soon left the house again claiming that there were errands that had to be taken care of.

I was sitting at the kitchen table taking advantage of the free space to do my homework when I heard rapid knocking on the backdoor. My head snapped up and, immediately, my heart squeezed as if threatening to burst every single drop of my blood onto this morning's newspaper. I made my way slowly to the door and peeked behind the curtain.

Charlene Madlee stood on the back patio waving frantically. "Let me in!"

The door wasn't locked anyway. But I opened it for her, and she burst into the room.

"Patty! Patty! I know you have seen the news. And I really need to tell you something," she said looking frantic. Her curls had begun to frizz, and I could tell that she had run here.

"Charlene, where's your car? Why did you run here?"

"It's in the shop. Oh, never mind that! I need to tell you something, Missy." Charlene had her finger up and was coming toward me in an accusing manner. I had to back up into a chair to keep my eyeball from being poked out.

"What is it, Charlene?" I said just wanting her to get to the point.

"I know what you're planning. You're thinking that you can just waltz into Germany like this war is already over. Well, it isn't! You can't go to Europe right now, Patty! There have been reports coming in from this way and that. Reports telling us what's been happening to those poor Jews. Dear God, the stories of the Poles are the worst. They've got experiments going. Practically every city has been blown to pieces." Charlene looked as if she might burst into flames at any minute. Her cheeks were a red, splotchy color and were blown up like one of those blow fish that I had seen in a magazine.

"Charlene-"

"You are not going, Patty! So help me, I will tell your Grandparents. I'm responsible for you at least in some sort of manner, and I will not be responsible for this! I will not be responsible for the death of Patty Bergen. I will not!" Charlene burst into tears and slouched into a seat.

"Charlene," I began again. "Anton doesn't want me to see Germany like it is now. That's one of the things he told me before he left. And it's not like I'm leaving tomorrow. I mean, eventually, I will go to Germany, and I do have to find him, Charlene, because he was my responsibility. I was responsible for his going. If only I had stopped him… But I didn't because that was not what he wanted. So, I let him go. You'll have to let me go, too, Charlene."

Charlene shook her head looking miserable, but she seemed to recover herself. The old Charlene was slowly coming back. She pushed her hair away from her face and wiped fiercely at the wetness under her eyes.

"I know it's dangerous, Charlene," I said calmly. "But I _have_ to find him."

"Just please tell me that you will wait a while before you go to Europe," Charlene pled.

"I'll try. I'm not making any promises though," I said as I saw her face brighten.

"Okay," she said looking somewhat calmer than the state in which she had arrived.

Charlene pulled out my next writing assignment, lit a cigarette, and we began going through a stack of papers together. This one was much less heart-wrenching than the one about the camps. We sat in the kitchen for the next hour as if nothing had ever been planned. But the more I thought about it, the more I had a need to plan. I had already gotten Charlene's permission. There was just one more person's opinion I cared about.

Jenkensville, Arkansas

May 4, 1945

8:00 PM

I hadn't thought that I would ever go back to Jenkensville. Now, I had exactly two hours to get to Ruth's house and back to catch the ten o'clock train. I had told Grandpa and Grandmother that I was going to a small gathering. They surprisingly let me go once I gave them the name Lucille Frank which they claimed was someone or other's granddaughter. They must have felt sorry for me, too. I felt slightly guilty about the lie. But the lie was necessary in order to get me to Jenkensville and back without worrying about them making me spend the night in town with my parents.

The only thing that I had to worry about was not being seen. From the depot, I had to walk past Bergen's Department Store in order to get to Ruth's neighborhood. I wore a hat that looked slightly silly in the dim twilight. I didn't think that anybody would be in the store, and I was right. The windows were completely dark as I walked quickly by. The whole town was becoming more and more silent as the evening stretched on. A few people were sitting on their front porch looking at me curiously.

None of them recognized me, probably because I had changed so much since last November. I had grown two inches despite the malnutrition caused by the reformatory. My hair had grown past my shoulders, too. I was beginning to see what Anton meant when he said that I would be beautiful and smart. I was a healthy five foot six.

My shoes clicked along the sidewalk as I made my way further and further into Ruth's neighborhood. The houses deteriorated more and more the farther I walked away from town. When I saw Ruth on her front porch, I had to keep myself from running the rest of the way. She had been rocking in an ancient rocking chair fanning herself in the spring heat. The fan stopped, however, when she saw me approaching.

"Is that Miss Patty Bergen?" Ruth's voice was slow and smooth like molasses but sweet as honey.

"Ruth," I breathed.

She stood, and I couldn't contain myself any longer. I threw myself into her big arms.

"Whoa now, Patty baby," she said but her arms only tightened around me. "How come you don't come see Ruth no mo'?"

"You know I would if I could. But I have been real busy lately with the school and Charlene and the paper, too." We had stopped embracing, and I sat in a chair Ruth pulled from the kitchen. The legs were uneven causing me to teeter.

"You sure is, you sure is." Ruth had begun to fan herself again. She rocked back and forth not saying a word more as if sensing that I had something important to say.

I didn't want to talk about it just then, though, so I asked about something else instead. "Have you heard any news from Robert?"

"Not since February," she said.

"Well, no news is good news," I said remembering some elderly man saying that one time when talking about his son who happened to be a G.I. as well. In fact, most every man seemed to be a G.I. in those days.

"Aint that the truth," Ruth said her eyelids drooping a bit.

The crickets took over the space in which our voices should have been filling. Ruth kept rocking though. I stood up straighter in my chair, preparing. I really wanted Ruth's advice on this, but I didn't want her to tell me not to search for Anton.

"Ruth," I say but voice cracked so I began again. "Ruth?"

"Yes, honey babe?"

Well, here goes. "I don't think Anton's dead. I mean, there wasn't good proof or anything about his so-called murder. They could have put ketchup on that shirt or something. Ruth, I've just been turning it over and over in my mind, and I have come to the conclusion that Anton is still out there. Because I know he wouldn't leave me like that, Ruth, I just know it. He still has all of those things to teach me."

Ruth exhaled through her nose. "I don't know if your Anton is alive or dead, and if you come here to ask me, I couldn't tell ya'. It's what you feel, in your heart, Patty babe. I can't tell you what its saying for ya'. You just have to listen."

"I don't here anything," I said.

"You just have to listen harder."

The train came to the station exactly on time. Ruth had walked me back to the station where we said our good-byes with tears streaming down both of our cheeks. Like Charlene, Ruth had asked me to wait until after the war to go search for Anton. She also asked me to visit her before I left on my journey whenever that would be. We didn't know if the war would be over tomorrow or next week. But we knew it would end soon. Everyone did.

I was on the train about thirty minutes into the ride when I lurched from my comfortable slouch straight up. The recurring dream of Anton and the train came back to me. Suddenly, it was like the shirt was in my hands all over again. But Anton was still on the train. He was still going. He was still out there. I pressed my face against the window to cool myself down. My eyes slipped closed, and this time, I stayed on the train.


	5. Chapter 5

They called us the Allies. We came together, pulled our resources together, and fought together. But what was I? How did I fit into this equation? I was the girl who hid a German soldier. If we ever had victory, was I allowed to celebrate? I was very sure that we would all be celebrating two very different things. The United States would be celebrating a great victory. I would be celebrating the end of a period in time that was so horrendous that I felt sorry for the enemy. And the enemy was my friend.

East Memphis, Tennessee

May 8, 1945

V-E Day

It was right before lunchtime when the news was announced. Yesterday, the Germans surrendered, unconditionally, to the allies. Today, we had Victory in Europe. The news was shocking. It came on a Tuesday, and school was let out early. There were people running and cheering and just crying in the middle of the street. Every ounce of food and beverage that had been carefully rationed was pulled out for the biggest party I had ever seen.

It didn't matter that I was the suspicious new girl that day. Everyone's doors were open. Every house was having a party. People were making rounds in the streets, going from house to house, exclaiming the news that everyone had already heard. Grandmother and Grandpa dragged me from house to house to everyone they had ever known for the past fifty years. The food was not entirely extravagant; it was just what people had in their icebox at the time. Of course, there were the people who had food that was extremely rare with whereabouts that were questionable- the black market was strong in the days of the war. But no one said anything about it.

That night, there was dancing, and I was asked by so many boys that I did not have a blush left in my body. But I knew they never would have asked if it hadn't been the day that the worst war in our history ended. My feet ached and were swollen by the time we got back home which was around one in the morning. I never would have guessed that my grandparents had so much energy. When I stood in front of the mirror that night, I was having trouble pronouncing the words correctly because I was smiling so much.

When I lay down in bed that night, my chest felt lighter, less compact. The events of the day hadn't let me full realize what the ending of the war in Europe meant. It meant that there were no more bombs flying down on people's heads. It meant that people could travel again. It meant that I could find Anton.

"_Gute Nacht_, Anton."

As Charlene requested, I sent my own view on the end of the war in Europe the very next day. It was to be published as soon as possible. I had been preparing the article for weeks, and it was a relief to not worry about it anymore. I didn't open up about Anton or compromise my identity. I simply put in a piece about a girl from Arkansas expecting to find her friend that she had lost in the war. It was Charlene's idea. I didn't want to write about how Anton may or may not be alive. I was afraid it might tip the scale of my chances to the side where Anton actually was shot that day.

Even after V-E Day, sometimes it didn't feel as if anything had changed. We still had to watch our supplies. They hadn't stopped the food rationing yet. They said it would be a while before our economy truly picked up. Maybe it was because, for me, the war hadn't ended yet. My war had only just begun.

I couldn't believe that it was only just last summer that I had met Anton. It felt like years ago. I had been put on trial, sent to prison, and been given an internship as a journalist. I couldn't believe my luck. It seemed that whenever I won something, I also lost something. It was that never ending balance.

I was doing the best that I could with my German, but the pronunciations were becoming harder and harder. I found myself becoming frustrated and throwing down the book often. I re-checked the book three times, but the library wouldn't allow me to re-check it a fourth time. When I went back, the book was gone. It would have been easy to believe that someone else had simply checked it out. But I knew better. Like many things, it was censored out of the stacks. I was frustrated and eventually took the first German book I had found out of the library without checking it out. The library would never see it again.

The end of the school year was fast approaching. I had a week left. The next week, we were having exams. Grandmother let me study out of the house one afternoon. I knew I would do just fine. Despite transferring schools twice this year, my grades were superb. So while I was supposed to be studying, I tried to get through the paragraph on Gottingen from the book. I only recognized the words: the, of, town, a, and. I sighed in frustration on a bench situated on one of the quieter streets of East Memphis. The street was lined with tall trees and lampposts. If only I still had that book.

"_Sie sind Deutsch_?" A voice came from right behind me.

I turned and nearly fell off the bench. A man with blonde, graying hair and glasses was leaning over my shoulder, his face right in mine. I struggled to understand him. _Are you German?_ I believed was the question. I shook my head quickly and replied, "_Nein_."

"_Amerikanisch_." American. It wasn't a question. I had to wonder how I would ever make it in Germany if I was so easily distinguishable. The man was older, and I didn't know if I should back away. He looked friendly enough; plus, my curiosity would win out anyway.

"Neither am I," he said.

"What?"

"I am not _Deutsch_. I am not from _Deutschland_." I recognized that his accent didn't sound German, and it certainly wasn't English. "I am from Poland. _Polska._"

"_Polska_," I repeated.

"That is right. I am Edmund." He introduced himself in a way that sounded like 'I am cold' or 'I would like a cookie, please.'

"I'm Patty," I said, shaking his hand while feeling slightly more grown up.

"Nice to meet you, Patty," he said. "What are you doing here, Patty? You are alone on a bench with a book about the country that was our enemy last week."

"I was looking for a quiet place to be."

"A quiet place to hide," he said leaning closer to me. "I'm hiding, too."

I raised my eyebrows wondering what he could possibly be hiding from.

"Lucky for me, what I'm hiding from is an ocean and two train rides away. I suppose I could go back now, but I like it here. I am in the land of freedom," Edmund leaned back on the bench folding his hands behind his head. He looked as if he might fall asleep.

I began to shut my book.

"'At the heart of the quaint city of Gottingen is the university where professors and students come together.'" I whipped my head around to look at him. His eyes were open, and he dropped his hands. "I suppose what you are hiding from is much closer than that, _Amerikanisch_."

My heart leapt into my throat. How could he have possibly known? "I don't know what you're talking about, sir," I said quietly pulling my bag closer and shoving the book into it.

"_Nein_." He says solemnly. "That is a lie."

"Why are you here?" I countered.

"Well," he leaned forward resting his arms in his knees and clasping them. "The Nazis tried to kill me and my family. I escaped. They did not listen to me, but I guess that they are either dead or in some Swiss camp."

His answer was harsh to my ears. Edmund's eyes were gleaming and almost menacing as if daring me to question him further. But he talked to me, sat down next to me. He shouldn't have started that conversation if he wasn't going to continue it.

"How do you know German and English?" I asked.

"Many people know _Deutsch_. _Deutschland_ borders _Polska_. English is the language I decided to learn when Hitler came into power. I knew America was my ticket, and I found it. Many did not listen to me," Edmund looked slightly sad.

A large engine was approaching down a side street. "How long have you been here?"

"Three years," he replied holding up the number with his fingers.

A bus turned onto the street and an idea popped into my head. "You know German, right?"

"That is correct."

"I need to know German," I said, my voice sounding desperate.

Edmund stood up. "The _Amerikanisch_ needs help?"

I force my anger back, "_Ja_."

"Then we shall meet again, soon," He considered something. "Saturday."

"Not Saturday."

His eyebrows shot up. "Jewish, too."

My heart stopped.

"Okay, fine. Sunday at three o'clock in the afternoon." The bus stopped in front us.

"Fine," I whispered into the wind as the bus drove away.

I didn't know if it was lucky that I had met Edmund or something very dangerous that I had walked into. But it couldn't possibly be something bad. No, it couldn't.

I found the ring around my neck and held on tight.

I told Charlene about Edmund. She didn't exactly seem thrilled, but she couldn't disagree either. There was no other way for me to learn German right now. She also agreed that is it was imperative for me not to seem American when I traveled to Germany. People would probably figure it out if I started talking, but I would at least seem as German as possible until that happened. Because of the very public place where Edmund and I had decided to meet, Charlene didn't even need to go with me. She did give me a stern warning thought, just in case.

The next week passed without pace and without matter. I didn't know how I felt about Edmund just yet. All I knew was that he knew German pronunciation and sentence structure. He would be a splendid teacher.

When I got to the bench Sunday afternoon, Edmund was already sitting there. "This is for you, Anton," I whispered.

Edmund saw me and sprung up. He began walking briskly in the opposite direction. "This way, _Amerikanisch._"

I huffed a sigh and ran to catch up with him.

"_Wie geht es Ihnen_?" Edmund asked in a smooth German accent.

"I'm good," I replied.

"In _Deutsch_," he hissed, "This is a class, _Amerikanisch_."

"Gut, danke," I replied.

"_Nein_." He said, and I look at him, questioningly. "Your accent is terrible. Repeat after me, _gut, danke_."

"_Gut, danke_."

"_Nein. Gut, danke_."

"_Gut, danke_," I couldn't tell the difference between his accent and mine.

He didn't bother to correct me that time and continued down the street, pointing to various objects and giving me a name for them which I had to repeat at least twice.

Edmund and I developed a schedule: every Tuesday at four and every Sunday at three. We met on Tuesdays because he took the bus to a restaurant where he said his family would be if they ever found him again. I thought it was sweet. The story was that if they ever escaped, they would go to a safe house in Switzerland where a message would be waiting for them to find Edmund at the restaurant. Why he chose Memphis instead of some place like New York was beyond me. But, on Sundays, no one had a bus to catch. We usually just walked around, or he would treat me to a sundae at the parlor a few blocks away.

Only one time did Edmund ask why me I needed to learn German so badly. That's when I launched into some really complicated story about needing to meet someone in Germany when the war was over. He guessed that it was a boy.

"Why doesn't he just come here?" Edmund asked.

"He can't," I replied.

"Do your parents not approve?"

"Something like that." He seemed to understand that pretty well, and the subject was closed.

Each time we met, Edmund had a list of words ready for me. I would stand in front of the mirror at night and pronounce them properly, for once. Then, the next time we met, he would quiz me on the words. We tried to talk as much in German as possible. But, we could usually only exchange no more than five sentences when I would lose track on what it was we were talking about. If we began talking about the ice cream parlor, I would somehow end up talking about the movie theater. Edmund was a good teacher, impatient at times, but mostly he was just snappy. I attributed this to the fact that he was Polish.

"How old are you, Patty?" Edmund asked me a few weeks after our meetings began.

"Thirteen. Why?"

"You seem older. Perhaps, you have lived a life full of stress? It causes wrinkles, you know- stress." Edmund took a sip of coffee.

I didn't know how to respond, so I just asked what I really wanted to know. "How old are you, Edmund?"

"Thirty-seven," he answered, not at all bothered by my question. "But, I look more like forty-five. That is okay. I don't need to impress any more ladies." He winked at me then.

I smiled back. "Do you have a wife?"

Edmund exhaled deeply. "I don't know."

"You don't know?" How can someone not know if he had a wife?

"I don't know if I do have a wife or if I _did_." He eyed his coffee cup as if expecting it to grow legs and walk straight out of the café. "They took her. The Nazis." "Why?"

"Enough questions, young _Amerikanisch_."

"Why do you call me '_Amerikanisch_' all of the time, Edmund?" I asked, annoyed.

"Because it is so obvious," He replied crisply. I didn't know if that was a good thing or a bad thing. "You have the true American spirit. I can feel it. One day you will find this Anton of yours. And when you do, you will know the true meaning of freedom."


	6. Chapter 6

The Day After V-J Day (Victory Over Japan)

September 3, 1945

Downtown Memphis

Roof Top of the Peabody Hotel

The funny thing is that you don't realize how bad things are until after the fact. Just like when I discovered that we won the war the day before, I knew that it was at someone's cost. Our victory cost 100,000 Japanese lives and counting. The thing was it bothered me when I heard it on the radio. But what really bothered me was when Charlene brought it up the night. Apparently, her childhood friend was Japanese. Charlene was drunk, too, and the mayor just about slapped her silly talking bad things about our country like that. But I was the one who followed her to the ladies' room before Grandmother could stop me.

6:35PM

East Memphis

I stood in front of the mirror in my room admiring the dress that I had picked out so long ago for that very day. The dress came down mid-calf; it was the style in those days. The dress was short enough to still be trendy but long enough to be decent. My hair was rollers as I raced around my room trying to find the few make-up items that Grandmother would permit me to wear, a light shade of lipstick and blush. I also had a pair of eyelash curlers hidden in the drawer of my desk. My silk stocking clad feet caused me to slip around.

When my hair was appropriately styled into place, as well as it could be, anyway, I slipped on my short heels. I raced over to the mirror to see the final product. This was the outfit I always imagined myself in when I met Anton again. Hopefully, I would get the chance to re-wear it, such a pretty dress. My face in the mirror was slightly flushed making the blush appear darker than it actually was. I hoped Grandmother wouldn't notice.

While standing there, I tried out a few German phrases. "_Hallo, Anton. __Es ist gut, dich zu sehen_." Hello, Anton. It's good to see you again. The phrase sounded to stiff and formal, but I didn't know what terms we would meet upon next. The phrase was the most diverse. It could be taken many different ways. I just hoped it didn't sound as nonchalant to him as it did to me.

Grandmother called me from down the stairs, and I huff out a sigh in frustration and embarrassment. I grabbed my purse and hurried down the stairs trying not to trip in my heels. I just wanted to get out the door before Grandmother could stop and comment on my hair or something. She was a little like Mother in that way.

At first, it seemed successful until we were on the short drive to the Peabody. Without turning around, my Grandmother stated, "Patricia, you look rather red this evening." And in that moment, she sounded more like my mother than I had ever heard before.

7:15

The Peabody Hotel

It was lit up from top to bottom. It seemed as if all the guests in the hotel had conspired together and decided to turn their lights on at the exact same time. We had entered through the front door and stood in the lobby talking with all of the other guests, those invited to the party and those from out of town. Dinner was to be held first in the restaurant up top, and then dancing in the ballroom was to take place shortly there after.

Many people milled about in the lobby trying to catch the next elevator up. No one dared to get his or her finest clothes mucked up by taking the stairs before the lobster was even served. It truly was a wonder what people could find when the war was over. Cakes and pastries were pulled out from left and right while champagne was served to the adults. Grandmother let me have a glass as well. There were several boys my age, only a few that I actually recognized from school. But, they didn't even catch my attention much save for when they manage to find paper to make a paper airplane. Which they, then, proceeded to toss my way. I narrowly avoided it, and it swooshed into the fountain in the center of the lobby. That's where they normally did the duck shows. I had seen them on multiple occasions. It really was a sight, seeing a group of ducks in such a grand hotel being herded out of the elevator.

There were excited whispers even before we got to the top of the Peabody that the mayor was joining us for dinner. It was most likely that he would be sitting at a table with his family though. This fact left a number of guests a bit disappointed.

The tables were covered in white linen and every type of glass, fork, spoon, plate, bowl, and napkin was set at each table seating only about seven to a table. The glasses were quickly filled up with some alcoholic beverage, even mine. Grandmother seemed content with turning her cheek the entire night even with the mayor sitting a few tables away.

At our table, Grandpa sat next to Grandmother who sat next to me. I sat next to Charlene who sat next to the editor of Commercial Appeal. There was a photographer floating around some place, too, but he didn't get to par-take in the meal. Finally, next to the editor was his wife and their son who was about a year or two older than me. I quickly tried to wipe off some of the blush and lipstick when no one was looking while cursing myself for looking so appealing tonight. It's not that the boy was ugly or anything. It was the fact that he was attractive, but in the snooty way where he knew he was attractive. It was also the fact that he was staring at me as if I were the sundaes that were placed all around the table for dessert.

By that point, I was dreading the dancing and was counting on Charlene not to leave my side the entire night. She didn't seem so interested in boys, either, and they didn't like her for her hot-headedness. But after a dance with his wife, the editor asked Charlene to dance which she could not refuse because he was her boss. Grandmother and Grandpa were somewhere across the room dancing with each other or their friends' spouses. It was just me and the editor's son who I discovered was named John, but everyone just called him Johnny.

I was avoiding Johnny's steady gaze trying to come up with an excuse to leave the table. But he beat me to the conclusion which was there wasn't any sort of way I was going to get out of dancing with the editor's son. The editor was my boss, too. For the moment, I was in his good graces; I wanted to keep it that way. So when good ole Johnny offered me his hand, I feigned tentativeness and let him pull me out of my chair.

By then, the music was in full swing. If I hadn't agreed to dance with Johnny, I would have been one of the only girls in the room without a dance partner. I tried not to feel too relieved at that fact just as I tried to keep a reasonable distance between me and Johnny. But he seemed to want to make that distance smaller and smaller with each step. I stared at the place just past his left ear while trying not to seem too tense. His hand on my back slipped down just a bit, and I 'accidentally' stepped on his toe. His hand didn't stray after that.

More drinks were passed around, and the mayor finally stood in front of the band. "Good evening, ladies and gentleman. It is my pleasure to celebrate this night with you in our victory over the Japs!" I winced at his crass term. Next to me, Charlene stood stiffly with a young man that had one hand wrapped around her waist. It seemed he couldn't take his eyes off of her, but I couldn't say the same for her of him. She was glaring at the mayor as he continued speaking. I could tell he was slightly drunk. "Those bombs certainly did us a whole lot of good. Well, I'll let everyone get back to dancin'." He hiccupped as he left stage. His wife attempted to steer him out of the room toward the open-air of the roof top where other guests were congregated.

Charlene slipped out after them, and I immediately knew nothing good would come of that. I rushed across the dance floor with Johnny trailing behind. I picked up the pace hoping to lose him. Out on the roof top, I was met with a cool breeze blowing and the city lights glistening around us. Music spilled out of the door behind me. Immediately, I heard Charlene yelling.

"…and those poor innocent people! Our feud was not with them, but with their government. They should not have had to suffer because America wasn't getting its way."

The mayor was spluttering. "What do you propose would have ended this goddam war? I bet you would just sit back and let those Japs take over this country."

Charlene was red in the face and looked like she was about to start throwing punches. Many people were gathered around them; I had to use my elbows to push past them to try and get Charlene's attention.

"They are people, too! And they are Japanese, not Japs! Why don't you say their whole name instead of trying to step on them with your oversized shoe like you do everything else," Charlene's voice was low but still carried across the roof top.

I stepped in seeing that the editor and his wife were also apart of the circle as well. Didn't she know that both of our jobs were at stake if she didn't walk away soon?

"Come on, Charlene." I grabbed her arm which was placed on her thrust out hip. "Let's go."

"Patty, stop! He needs to hear this!" She tried to brush me off.

"Miss Madlee-" The editor cleared his throat. It seemed more like a warning to me than anything else.

I finally found a good hold on Charlene and escorted her through the crowd to the ladies' room. She huffed over to the mirror and ferociously dabbed red lipstick onto her lips while going on and on about how her childhood best friend was taken to go live in one of the camps. Then, she dropped it into her bag and slumped against the counter, head in her hands. I decided to wait and see if she wanted to talk about it.

"Patty, I'm so sorry. I'm sorry. You don't deserve this. I'll probably get fired." Charlene rolled her eyes and huffed, "So much for freedom of speech."

I shrugged because I couldn't argue with that and leaned against the counter next to her. "It's been really great, Charlene. I have been so wonderfully happy to have this opportunity. My life has really turned around in the past year. Shoot, this time last year, I was back in school in Jenkensville."

"Oh, Patty, I've been meaning to tell you." Charlene looked guilty then. She sighed, "I got offered a job in Boston."

"Oh, congratulations," I said. I didn't know how else to respond.

"Well, and no one turns down a job out of Boston," she stiffed. There were tears in her eyes.

"You already accepted it, didn't you?" I sighed when she nodded.

"But maybe you can still have an internship, but it can be for Boston. I'm sure they would love to have some news from down South. You could be the eyes and ears of this place. What a wonderful idea!" Charlene's demeanor was brightening up by the second.

Then, it hit me, Boston. That was one of the places where Anton was trying to go to catch a ship back to Europe. There are lots of ships in Boston. My plan was already formed before I could even accept Charlene's offer.

"I'll just have to get it approved, but that won't take much because of your experience," she was going on and on, happy that she had found a solution to what seemed to have been a terrible problem. But, really, that job in Boston was the best thing that could have happened. It brought me one more step closer to Anton.

We both left the ladies' room smiling while others eyed us warily including the editor and his wife. Little did he know that we would be giving our notice the very next Monday. That night, after all of my make-up had been wiped off, I whispered to the ceiling a phrase Edmund taught me, "_Wir warden bald wieder zu treffen_."

We'll meet again soon.


	7. Chapter 7

November 29, 1945

Train to Jenkinsville, Arkansas

Charlene's invited me up to Boston just like she promised. I'm supposed to leave in two day's time to be gone for a whole week. Grandpa and Grandmother aren't too thrilled that I'm missing school, but since I already have a job guaranteed after high school, they'll permit me. But just like Charlene promised something, I promised something to somebody else.

Yes, I'm going to Boston, but I'm not coming back. I don't know how long I'll be gone, maybe forever. Edmund says I'm good enough at German to at least to find my way around Germany, but I would have to enroll myself in a class or at least have whoever I'm housing with teach me more. I haven't told Edmund, but he'll be sitting alone at the bus stop, and he'll know.

Edmund's real funny about my proposed departure. He doesn't really want to be involved, but he's not stopping me. He drops little hints like, "If I were traveling to Germany, I would go to…" This restaurant on this corner of so-and-so street. Once, he straightforward said to me, "My young American friend, if you ever find yourself in Germany, ask around for Edmund Klosowski's family." That was the only time he called me an American in English.

I also made a promise to someone else, too. I promised Ruth that I would say good-bye to her before I left for good. Tonight, I find myself in Jenkinsville, Arkansas. It's twilight outside just like it was the last time I was here. I walk quickly through the streets wearing my traveling coat and hat so I look like an ordinary visitor. It is much colder here now than it was last time. I hug my coat around me to keep warm.

Ruth's house has one light that shines from the front window. The rocking chair is no longer on the front porch giving the porch a bare appearance. My footsteps make a loud creaking noise as I approach the door.

The door is thrown open, and Ruth rushes out and gives me a big hug. "Patty, baby. Please don't tell me this is it." Her voice is more stern than I have ever heard it, yet she holds me to her like I'll sweep away like dust.

How'd she know?

"Ruth," I begin as she waves me into the house not taking my coat but putting another piece of wood in the stove. It occurs to me that she's only doing so because I'm here, and I'm glad that she is warmer. "I've got to find him."

"Now, hold on, Patty girl." Ruth situates herself into a chair. "What's your story? You can't up and leave without telling anyone anything."

"Charlene got a job in Boston for the paper up there. I'm visiting her."

I know the way I say 'visiting' sounds off. It's the key word.

"How long do your folks think you're visiting her?"

I don't say anything for a short moment. "A week."

Ruth lets out a low whistle. "I know you can't get to Boston, Germany, and back. What do I say when I see you pretty face on a milk carton?"

"Well, you'll know I'm safe," I say nodding trying to convince her.

"No, I won't either." Ruth taps her toe on the floor. "Who's gonna know if you drown falling off the boat? Who knows if you die being over by a train? Nobody knows nothin'."

"I'm terribly sorry, Ruth." I hug her around the shoulders. "One day, I will send you a letter. But it won't be any time soon."

"I knows it, Patty baby." Ruth sighs, and I swear I can see tears in her eyes. "I knows it as soon as I knows that he was willing to put his comfort and freedom aside for a friend. That's you, Patty baby. I knows in that moment that's what God put you here for. Now, you get on out of here and find that boy."

Just when I begin to warm up, I find myself back on Ruth's front porch facing a cool evening. The night Anton left flickers through my mind. It goes backwards from there, revolving around his figure yards away from me, angry, ready to kill my father. The man who wouldn't dare shoot his enemy.

I want to see the place where I saw him last again. I want to flood my memories to have the courage to do what I need to do.

The hideout has an abandoned look to it. It seems like one of those scary, abandoned houses in West Memphis. I'm not even sure if my father would go in there. My entire hideout could be nothing, destroyed. Just like he told me what I was, nothing. But I know I'm much more.

I sigh in contempt but in reminiscence when the house comes into view. There are good memories here. All include Ruth and Anton. Some include Sharon.

The house itself hasn't changed, but it has. I sneak around the back toward the garage. But light coming from the kitchen window plants my feet in place. Father, Mother, and Sharon sit around the table. Ruth's replacement is going through the backdoor. I press myself against the house, but she sees me anyway. The funniest thing happens. She stops, nods at me, and gives me a smile.

"Ruth told me about you. Don't get into any trouble now." With a stern look, she keeps walking.

I take her advice and continue on to the garage.

The ladder's the same; the hideout hasn't been touched, well since the FBI. I quickly put everything back into its proper place. The thin mattress is still there where Anton slept. I lay down on it. It's musty and dirty, but I feel sleep. And it doesn't matter anymore.

Just when I believe I'm comfortable, I feel something hard pressing into my back. There's something _in_ the mattress.

I roll over feeling along side the mattress. There's a long, thin hole in the side. I take a breath and push my hand into the slot. Inside, it feels like paper. Lot's of paper. There are tablets. I gasp and pull them out. There are two of them, and they are all filled with writing.

They are numbered too. The first one begins _I'm writing from prison. It's prison in America, so it is not exactly prison. A girl in a shop sold me these tablets along with pencils and a pencil sharpener. The English word is what I thought it would be._

It's Anton's.


End file.
